Page 61 of Tutoring the Bad Boy
Yeah, I still want MIT, but I want Ginny more. Way more. As long as the college I pick has a good architectural engineering program, I’m good. Not sure how my dad would feel, but I made a deal with him too. It means that I may end up having a dual major, but the girl who stole my heart is worth a packed course load.
I don’t know how long it’s been since I felt hope, but standing on the beach, knowing how I feel, that’s what’s filling me. Happiness, hope, and love. I might be too young to understand it as deep as I should, but I understand it enough that I want to hold on to it with both hands. It’s a good feeling and one I’m fighting to keep.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ginny
My long Thanksgivingweekend is made bearable only because of Kaleb. I would have invited him and his dad, but…fake turkey. I want his dad to like me, not think I’m trying to poison him. Hopefully, I’ll get to meet him soon.
The food I’d snuck into the fridge was gone on Thanksgiving Day, and I managed to choke down a few bites of the tofurkey my mom cooked. I had a sinking suspicion my mom would discover it and toss it, but I didn’t tell Ronnie. She felt bad enough ditching me without adding a sad tale of fake turkey and gravy that was lumpy this year. I didn’t even bother tasting that.
Sneaking out with Kaleb makes time fly at the speed of light. Before I know it, it’s almost Christmas, and while it’s fun being him, all the games are making me tired. It’s gone from just a day on the weekend to a couple of times during the week. We don’t go anywhere. He just climbs the tree and we sit on the roof talking. It’s felt like we’ve made up for lost time since eighth grade.
I don’t want to sneak out anymore. My skin tingles, and I press my fingers to my lips. That morning on the beach shifted things in our relationship. We haven’t talked feelings, and I don’t want to just yet. Not when it could be tainted by this seemingly never-ending weird dance we’re doing with my mom.
I bounce on the balls of my feet as I look over the students milling in the halls before lunch on Monday before winter break. My heart flits in my chest as Kaleb’s face comes into view. Oh, that smile.
When he reaches me, he takes me in his arms, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. Always too quick, even when it wouldn’t be considered quick at all. “Last day before winter break.”
“I’m ready for it. Are you?” The unspoken subject of his second grade hangs in the air. We’ve been studying, just not as hard as before. The last couple of weeks we’ve gone over Shakespeare’s shorter plays, and they seem to click with Kaleb much like the longer plays.
“Let us charge forth and take our futures firmly in our grasp.” He tries using a British accent and fails miserably.
“What was that?” I ask, laughing.
“I was trying the whole Shakespeare thing.” His lips pinch together. “But I think I crashed and burned.”
“I think gasoline was involved.”
This time he laughs, and his lips touch mine. “Ready for lunch?”
When we part ways after we eat, I float to Mrs. Yates’s class. “Hi,” I say to her as I bounce into the classroom.
Mrs. Yates’s eyebrows rise. “You seem very chipper this today.”
“It’s a good day.” I’m especially thrilled that neither of my friends is in this class. By the time the last bell rings, they’ll be heading out of state, and I’ll be on my own. There’s no doubt they’d question the root of my good mood if I saw them later.
The rest of the students trickle in, and Mrs. Yates picks up a stack of papers from her desk. “A thought occurred to me over the weekend that perhaps I could make this class a little more…immersive.”
Immersive?I’m not the only one confused based on the murmurs coming from other students.
Mrs. Yates hands sheets of paper to the first person in each of the five rows. “The second-semester outline is changing. I’m letting you know now so it’s not a shock when you return from break. It’ll be a rather large project. In fact, if you fail it, you will fail my class.”
Why would she change the syllabus halfway through the year? It doesn’t make any sense. I know it doesn’t because students have talked about her class. The syllabus has been used since she began teaching at Port Crest High. Has someone cheated or something?
“The first six weeks of next semester, you’ll be picking a play, researching it, and then writing a paper on it. That is the first part of the project, and it’s individually graded. It will make up twenty-five percent of your grade.”
More grumbling ripples across the classroom, but I’m golden on this part. I can write a paper in my sleep.
Mrs. Yates hushes them and continues. “The second six weeks, you’ll pick a modern-day movie. There are twenty-six students in this class, which means there will be one day assigned to each of you. For that day, you’ll lead the class by presenting the similarities, the differences, and why you picked that movie.”
Another thing I can do in my sleep. What I’m freaking out over is the third part of this honking-huge project.
“The final six weeks, you’ll pick a scene from the movie you researched in the second six weeks and perform it with a student I will assign to you. Those will be done by the middle of the term.” She glances around the room. “That way we can account for sick days or things like that.” Man, she was good. “In addition to performing for the class, I’ll be picking the twenty best performances for a showcase as well, which you will perform in front of the school one night only.”
I gulp. It’s bad enough to be acting for my class, but for the whole school? Parents, teachers, everyone? I think I’m gonna be sick.
Mrs. Yates pirouettes on her toes and walks to her seat behind the desk, lowering herself into it like she’s just picked a bunch of daisies instead of sentencing me to a very public embarrassment. She is not on my favorite-person list, and she may never return to it.
